


Italian Boy

by kookaburrito



Category: Glee
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Awkwardness, Blow Jobs, Cultural Differences, Dirty Talk, Fluff, Foreign Language, Frottage, Innocence, Language Barrier, Language Kink, M/M, Public Transportation, Romance, Slow Build, Soulmates, italian!blaine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 18:00:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2077716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kookaburrito/pseuds/kookaburrito
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every Saturday morning Kurt takes the bus to Little Italy. During the ride he keeps seeing the same cute boy who reads Italian books, and decides to learn the language, you know, just because it might turn out useful in the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Aperitivo

It starts with a bus.

Kurt takes the same bus every Saturday to his self-defense classes in Little Italy. They say that behind the scenes the classes are run by some sketchy individual with a gold tooth who certainly has connections to the mafia, but Kurt doesn’t really think much of it. He learned some pretty useful skills with these guys, and deep down they’re actually all sweethearts. Even Carlo, the one with a huge scar across his entire face. 

After Kurt got bashed not a block away from the loft, Burt made his son swear that he will learn how to protect himself, if he was going to be so stubborn and brave all the time. Kurt smiled at his dad’s choice of vocabulary and assured him that he would definitely learn how to be not only selfless, but also safe.

Kurt’s schedule is pretty tight, juggling his hard work at NYADA and the Spotlight Diner, plus occasional Vogue.com home projects, but he managed to find the perfect hours for the class on Saturday mornings, squeezing them between a healthy cheese toast based breakfast slash Broadway blogs gossip (read: judgment hour) with Jean Baptiste and the afternoon yoga practice with Elliot. 

With his endless love for precision and details, Kurt wouldn’t be surprised if he actually takes the same bus with the same driver every Saturday. The ride is usually half-empty, since everyone prefers the subway these days. That’s why Kurt tries to make sure his phone is charged, so that he can listen to music all the way to his destination. It’s not a short ride, after all.

Kurt doesn’t notice him the first few times. 

There is a guy sitting by the window, reading a book. 

His dark hair and olive skin tone make Kurt momentarily think that he’s a foreigner, but Kurt can’t be too sure. In New York City everyone seems to be a foreigner.

Kurt forgets about him until the next time he sees the boy again. He’s wearing stylish suspenders and, what particularly catches Kurt’s attention, shiny bird-shaped cufflinks. They are definitely one of the top-5 coolest things Kurt has ever seen, and he stares at them longer than strictly necessary or even polite. Until suddenly the guy moves his hands, and Kurt looks up to his face like a deer caught in headlights. He immediately averts his eyes, because it might have seemed like Kurt was checking him out. He turns to stare out of the window instead, pretending he’s not even there, and switches to the beginning of the song that was playing. It’s his own fault anyway, he missed his favorite part because he was ogling a stranger’s fashion accessories.

Slowly, Kurt notices that the boy is always taking the same bus too. Whenever Kurt gets on, he’s already there, but he exits a few stops earlier than Kurt. Also he’s always reading books during the ride, and somehow Kurt thinks it makes him look more sophisticated and a tad bit schoolboy sort of bashful. It’s something he hasn’t encountered before and hasn’t taken much interest in. Until now.

One day Kurt ignores the voice of dignity inside his head, swiftly pretends that he’s tying his shoelaces and spies the cover of the guy’s book. It says “ _Fiabe per Bambini_ ”. Definitely not American then. He doesn’t let himself feel creepy when he googles the title right there on the bus with the guy sitting two seats away from him and then through the translate option confirms that it’s indeed the Italian for “Fairy Tales for Children”. Kurt wants to roll his eyes at himself. Of course the boy is Italian, they’re on the bus to Little Italy and he has dark hair and a really beautiful disarming Mediterranean smile. Everything in him practically screams Italian, and Kurt subconsciously convinces himself that he’s seen those pants in Valentino’s catalog.

Kurt wonders if the boy’s outfits are getting better each time he sees him, or if he just starts to notice him more and more with every trip they make (Kurt bites his tongue and avoids thinking “every trip we make together”). Whichever it is, he is impressed by the collection of bow ties, that’s for sure.

The polos are particularly adorable too. Kurt always considered them a disgrace and general waste of fabric, but on this guy they just click. They are colorful, accentuate his figure, particularly his tiny waist, and bring out something old-fashioned, something naive and cute. It’s nice to see someone rocking an unusual outfit and at the same time feeling so completely at ease in it. It’s rare and it certainly sparks Kurt’s interest.

Each Saturday morning Kurt progressively spends less time leaning on the kitchen counter listening to Jean Baptiste talk about some vocal competition, and more time behind his clothes rack listening to Jean Baptiste talk about some vocal competition. He needs to look his best, absolutely impeccable. Surely, that is his standard approach to life, but now Saturday mornings for him are full of a new kind of motivation. The Italian boy certainly appreciates fashion, and making a tiny effort for him wouldn’t be so bad, right?

Lately Kurt is more of a neckerchief kind of guy, but since Italian boy is so invested in bow ties, Kurt decides to switch it up for a day and give it a try. He double-irons the chosen shirt and tries a dozen different bow-ties on until he finds the perfect one. It has tiny white stars on it and looks a little bit like the one with blue stars he saw the stranger wearing two Saturdays ago. 

That day, the day Kurt specifically wore a bow tie on that bus for the first time, Kurt thinks he catches a wink from the guy directed right at him when he passes by on his way out. He can’t be sure, but his heart flutters anyway. Totally worth the ten extra minutes of changing in the locker rooms on his way to class.

Yet another time Kurt’s not so lucky. He realizes that his fashion efforts would go to waste when he enters the bus to find it absolutely packed. It seems like a whole army of prepubescent high-schoolers decided to ride that one bus. It’s all crammed with noisy kids. Kurt sighs when he doesn’t see Italian boy in his usual spot, and with difficulty tries to stand, holding the rail. He resigns to a lonely ride this time.

But then the bus abruptly stops, and he nearly falls, getting pushed further into the human swarm of passengers, until he turns and finds himself practically flushed together with Italian boy.

Immediately, Kurt becomes aware of the boy’s shoulders brushing against his chest, of Italian boy’s thigh nudging his own, of his body warmth. He tries to move to find a more comfortable position without startling him, but suddenly Italian boy turns too and their eyes meet... 

He looks surprised, but certainly not unpleasantly so, and Kurt smiles apologetically, trying to adjust his own body so it wouldn’t be pushing into his. Italian boy smiles back and sheepishly looks away. Kurt can see the faint blush on his cheeks and wonders if it’s from the fact that he’s sandwiched in a mob of people or for entirely different reasons. He hopes it’s the latter.

In seconds, he becomes aware of how close they are standing, invading each other’s personal space. Italian boy smells so good, he certainly wears some sort of cologne, and Kurt catches himself on the thought that he wouldn’t mind smelling that, whatever it is, all day. Italian boy’s shorter than Kurt imagined, and his head would fit perfectly well in the space between Kurt’s neck and shoulder. He also has that tiny huggable waist, accentuated by that red polo which is neatly tucked inside his skintight jeans. His complexion is unusual for a guy and kind of perfect at the same way, and Kurt would be lying if he said he’s noticing it only for strictly professional drawing-models-all-the-time reasons. It’s amazing how refreshing and right it feels to be looking down after a lifetime of crushing on taller guys. 

They stand, awkwardly pressed together and stealing glances of each other when the other one is not looking. Kurt’s heart flutters whenever he accidentally brushes his fingertips against Italian boy’s on the rail. Until suddenly at one bus stop the whole battalion of teenagers and their poor martyr of a teacher decides to flee, leaving Kurt and Italian boy standing too uncomfortably close for just two strangers in the middle of a half-empty bus. 

In a moment the illusion is broken and Kurt realizes how creepy he’s acting. They don’t even know each other! Moving away a little, Kurt unconsciously licks his lips and then adjusts his slightly creased clothes, while Italian boy slowly moves past him and closer to the door. He exits at the next stop, and then - steals one last glance over his shoulder. Kurt’s stomach swoops, because that one glance was absolutely, undeniably intentional. And though it’s terribly wrong, Kurt can’t help but smile during the rest of the ride, and during the 5 minute walk to the self-defense class, and even during the mockup fight where he gets badly bruised by a fellow student who is shooting him weird looks because of the way Kurt’s been beaming the whole time.

Since that memorable day when they were both standing close together and sharing a rail, Kurt thinks they’ve established some sort of connection. It’s strange, they haven’t even spoken to each other, and yet when a lady in a bright pink dress with a slimy green purse enters the bus, Kurt meets Italian boy’s eyes and almost imperceptibly shakes his head in disapproval, and Italian boy looks over at the lady once again and with a smirk rolls his eyes too. It looks like a secret conspiracy of fashion-police, and they both hide their grins while breaking eye-contact. 

One day Kurt is listening to his personal playlist of top-25 favorite show tunes and purposely avoids looking where the Italian boy is sitting. That is, until he hears a voice and turns just slightly, out of curiosity, taking out an earbud. The boy is talking on the phone, a stream of incomprehensible fluent language that must be Italian escaping his mouth in what suddenly strikes Kurt to be the most beautiful music he has ever heard.

Kurt has to make an effort not to let his jaw drop. He regularly hears the middle-aged burly sweaty guys at the self-defense class talk in Italian, but it never sounds so… sexy. Kurt is perfectly aware that the guy is probably talking about buying groceries or his grandma’s asthma or the weather, but it doesn’t mean that Kurt won’t pause his playlist to listen.

His voice is a little rough, but oh so melodic. He shapes the many vowels in a graceful manner, and the way he talks so naturally and effortlessly, in what is obviously his mother tongue, makes it sound so light and attractive. And all of this despite the fact that Kurt doesn’t understand a single word. 

Kurt glances out of the corner of his eye at the Italian boy, and can’t help but feel his heart flutter when he notices that he’s gesturing wildly, accompanying his words with his hand as if though he’s playing some sort of invisible instrument. The language is quick, expressive, infinitely musical. 

Heart beating wildly, Kurt feels as if he has experienced some kind of culture shock. Long after the boy gets off the bus Kurt notices that he still hasn’t un-paused his music.

It doesn’t strike him until he’s had pasta four days in a row that week that he might have a bit of a problem. 

He can’t get the Italian boy out of his head.


	2. Antipasto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work will feature a lot of Italian dialogue, but no fear, I provide the English translation immediately after in square brackets.

His friends start calling Kurt pathetic. 

And by ‘friends’ he means Jean Baptiste.

He has been single a long time, hasn’t really dated anyone except for Adam, even though he doesn’t know if he would classify that as officially ‘dating’. Kurt liked Adam, he was such a nice guy, the kind that is absolutely adored by teachers and parents, on top of that totally Kurt’s type: blond, tall, handsome, older. They had fun together, they shared a lot of interests. But somehow, there was no spark. Kurt beat himself up for a whole week before he finally admitted that no matter how much of a nice guy Adam actually was, they were not going to work out. Kurt chose his eternal crazy romantic dream over a guy who was available and met practically all of Kurt’s ridiculous standards. One could call him unreasonable for that, but Kurt sighed in relief when they broke up.

And despite being single, he didn’t let his friends drag him to clubs either. Kurt hasn’t really discovered his inner clubbing diva yet. Though Kurt loved the spotlight and the attention, at a club it seemed like everyone craved to show off, and that wasn’t appealing in his opinion. He always stood in the corner, drinking and watching his friends go wild. Though the sight was amusing, he didn’t want to spend another night in an overcrowded place with super loud music, and then smell like booze and feel awful about himself because he doesn’t find attractive all the sleazy guys who try to charm him with stupid pick-up lines. 

Letting his walls down is hard enough, and Kurt doesn’t want to do it, doesn’t want to lose control around people who haven’t earned it. 

That’s why whenever Jean Baptiste came home with a different girl or guy on his arm, and looked at Kurt with more pity than judgment, Kurt couldn’t stand that. At moments like this he contemplated moving out. He wouldn’t describe it as ‘nice’, living together with an incredibly eccentric obsessed with being in the spotlight drama queen that is Jean Baptiste from Throat Explosion (though sometimes Kurt was horrified by how similar they were), or the constantly rocking his numerous guitars at all hours of the day Elliot Starchild Gillbert (though Elliot was a total sweetheart, he still had annoying habits of his own). But somehow despite the differences the three of them shared the loft just fine, and it was surprising even for Kurt, and he quickly convinced himself that moving out wasn’t the solution.

And even though his friends deep down were actually very supportive of him, Kurt still felt immensely pathetic. This feeling gnawed at him from the inside for god knows how long, but finally came along something that truly inspired him and managed to distract him from feeling sorry for himself.

That’s why Kurt starts learning Italian.

He assures Elliot that it’s just something he needs for Vogue, with all the influence Italian fashion has in the world today, and tries to convince Jean Baptiste it’s something he needs for his recipes, with all the influence Italian food has on the cooking menu in the loft. The boys exchange a disbelieving look, but in the end they don’t ask him about it. God knows they’re both incredibly eccentric too. And despite the alibi, when Kurt browses the foreign languages learning section in the local bookstore for suitable study materials, he doesn’t think of food or fashion. There is only the vivid memory of the stranger’s pretty honey hazel eyes floating in his mind.

Now most of his evenings are passed twirling in the kitchen, tasting the sauce to see if it’s ready or washing the dishes, and listening along to his audio course that generously promised him Italian in 20 days.

The basic expressions are not hard, and Kurt memorizes them all in about 10 minutes. But then he actually spends a good half hour greeting himself in the mirror saying _“Ciao”, “Come va?”, “Buon giorno”_ and other phrases over and over again to practice his pronunciation. 

Then he starts practicing on Bruce, shaking his hand in greeting and striking up a simple dialogue. Half-way through the process Kurt catches his own reflection in the mirror – sitting in pajamas, hair a mess, and trying to shake a pillow’s hand. He feels downright ridiculous, and dissolves into giggles at how weird he’s acting. Kurt feels something warm flip inside his stomach. Even though it’s silly, he’s genuinely having fun.

One of the exercises is recording his own voice, and then comparing it to the provided audio. He cringes when he hears himself. That American accent is just awful. He hopes Italian boy won’t hate him immediately for torturing his native tongue in such a horrid way. He focuses on the vowels, repeats the words slowly and then quicker. 

Tip number one in the book is to practice with a native speaker and emulate their pronunciation.

The guys at his self-defense club are pretty ‘chill dudes’ as Finn would call them. He starts practicing Italian with them, very subtly, just adding a few words he learned here and there while speaking to them. When they catch up on his new quirk, and ask him why, all Kurt does is blush and stutter in response, and they laugh, telling him that the most important phrase is apparently _“Da te o da me?” [Your place or mine?]._

Another guy immediately comes up with a quick pick-up dialogue _“La sai la differenza tra parlare e fare sesso? – No, – Allora andiamo a casa mia a parlare” [You know the difference between talking and having sex? – No, - Then let’s go to my place to talk]_ , and even though it’s immensely corny, Kurt still laughs along because he actually understood it. Then they start gesturing and speaking too fast for Kurt’s level, so he just watches them, amused. At least now he knows who should he come to if he’d ever need to learn suggestive words. He files that information for later, much later. Because… Who knows? Maybe Italian boy would be into that.

As an alternative to his self-defense guys, Kurt starts snatching off Italian tourists from his coworker Shawna’s claws at the Spotlight diner. He approaches them faster than a hawk, and shamelessly uses them to practice his beginner-level of Italian. Mostly they’re endearing elderly couples who after 40 years of working at the same place and never stepping out from their little neighborhood in their little town suddenly decided to explore the world, with the financial help of their wealthy and numerous offsprings. It’s incredibly heart-warming watching their child-like reactions to mundane things. Kurt guesses the meanings behind all the typically Italian exclamations and gestures, taking notes not only of their orders, but also of some new words, and then presents them the perfect American Dream on a plate. They’re surprised and pleased at his language skills, and even more from the size of the meals. Besides valuable speech practice, the tips are also getting bigger.

He catches himself humming Italian songs on his way to classes, and after a while realizes that it’s actually a very good idea, since it’s exactly as tip number five suggests. Apparently when one sings in a foreign language, the duration of each vowel gets longer and the accent becomes less noticeable. He sings in the shower, sings while getting dressed, sings while cleaning his room. The songs come easy to him, he’s always been a musical person, and the range of his vocabulary expands.

Besides, Kurt doesn’t abandon the other two aspects: reading and writing. Reading is hard sometimes, because different consonants can be read in different ways according to their position in the word, but Kurt is aware that English is much more awful at that. The grammar is difficult, but the letters are all the same, and the readings of the words are still much more logical. He silently thanks lady fate that he hasn’t chosen to ride a self-defense class to Chinatown. 

And every Saturday Kurt spends silently admiring the Italian boy from a few seats across of him, desperately wanting to become confident enough to talk. Despite all the practice he still feels awfully insecure for his speech abilities. There’s a psychological barrier, and he’s not exactly ready to make a fool out of himself in front of someone who already found a way inside his daily thoughts.

This all ends one Saturday when Kurt steps on the bus to find it empty. Well, it’s not empty, there are the other passengers he sees sometimes: the woman with the afro and red headphones, and the grandma with the flowery hat, and the guy who seems to be always stoned, but Kurt still feels his heart drop. Italian boy is nowhere to be seen.

During the whole ride Kurt can’t sit still. The music isn’t a good distraction, because Kurt’s brain can’t stop reeling with anxious questions. What if he has been deported back to Italy and now is slaving himself on a plantation of oranges? What if his family got into a mafia fight with a rival gang like in West Side Story? What if his schedule changed and now he’s taking the bus on Fridays? What if he won the lottery and now drives a posh car instead of taking the bus?

All of this fuses into one big question. What if Kurt won’t see Italian boy ever again?

This thought feels like a splash of freezing cold water in Kurt’s face. He doesn’t understand why it gets to him, why does he feel ever so slightly betrayed and upset. How did he manage to get so attached to a person he only saw on public transport, hasn’t even learned the name of, and literally knows nothing about?

The whole week Kurt mulls over the fact that he got too involved with an idea, a fantasy, submitting to something that didn’t make him feel lonely anymore, but at the same time wasn’t real and healthy. He wonders why he decided to learn Italian, and work so hard on putting together elaborate outfits on Saturdays, why he started sketching short dark-haired boys instead of tall blond ones in his drawings for Isabelle. Wonders why he believes in something so completely irrational, dictated by fate, in the powerful but random attraction, instead of seeking real relationships.

He spills his whole inner turmoil to Elliot on Thursday evening over Thai take out and glasses of red wine. He knows he can trust him, because Elliot gets it. He gets how it feels to be lonely in a sea of available boys, how hard it is to find someone to just talk to and smile with and let yourself dream. Elliot crushes the bi stereotype in every aspect: he too is waiting for the love of his life, and Kurt’s glad he can confide in him. Always so calm and rational, Elliot assures Kurt that he’s not crazy and just tells him to wait until next Saturday.

“If he’s still there, you should talk to him, see how it goes,” Elliot shrugs, swiftly taking a battered shrimp with the chopsticks out of his take out box, “If not – well then, since you’re the one who believes in fate, it simply wasn’t meant to be.”

Kurt is constantly amazed by how fast Elliot can resolve a seemingly impossible situation. Kurt always thought himself to be the most mature and reasonable person inside his group of friends, but now that he’s the one to lose his mind over a complete stranger, he’s glad that Elliot is there to help him calm down. He’s by far the most normal person Kurt has ever met. 

The next day Elliot brings him a canary in a cage and Kurt reevaluates his opinion about the whole ‘normal’ and ‘reasonable’ thing.

“What… is that?” he asks Elliot, eyeing the little yellow bird with suspicion.

“It’s a canary, a lady on the corner of 77th Street was selling it half price so I thought, why don’t I buy it for my friend Kurt?,” he brushes a finger down the feathers of the tiny creature, “You seem like you have a lot on your mind, and it’d be nice to distract yourself.”

“I don’t need a…”

“Look, Kurt, in all honesty, we all know how lonely you are,” Elliot says, cutting Kurt’s wounds open with his words, “And I just thought you would like to have a feathered friend who would be easy to care of and provide a distraction from your… other problems.”

“I don’t have other problems Elliot. There’s just a stranger on the bus, people often look at each other on public transport, it doesn’t mean anything…”

“It means something to you,” Elliot says simply, and Kurt stops rambling. Somehow Elliot’s words resonate inside of him. 

Yes, it does mean something to him, and that’s why it is important. Because it makes him feel and breathe and learn something new and look forward to new things. It doesn’t have to fit inside a certain box to be important. Who cares if it’s not normal? It makes him smile, that’s what’s important. He’s never considered the whole situation from this point of view before.

Elliot leans down and watches the little bird peck at its seeds. “Just give it a shot? It’s a canary, it’ll probably sing with you.”

Kurt sighs. The truth is, he is lonely. He wants someone special in his life, but not just a someone. He wants that person that would be just perfect for him, and who could consider Kurt perfect too. He has no idea why Elliot decided that it would be a good idea, but he supposes he can try.

“It’s male, isn’t it?” he says finally looking at the little canary in the cage, “I’ll name him Pavarotti.”

“So Italian,” Elliot grins in response, and immediately gets a forceful shove.


	3. Primo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, translation is provided in square brackets. Note that Kurt doesn't understand everything that Blaine says to him.

The next Saturday after the tragic Lonely Ride Saturday, Kurt is fidgeting nervously at the bus stop. If the Italian boy is not there… If he’s never going to show up again... Kurt takes a deep breath, checks his watch. The bus arrives on time and when he steps up his eyes immediately get drawn to the guy’s deep red bowtie. 

Italian boy looks sweet and handsome as always, and Kurt almost gets stuck in the doorway, moving only when an elderly lady bumps into him. He catches a failed attempt to hide a smile on Italian boy’s face. In the meantime the elderly woman takes his usual seat, and Kurt is left to stand awkwardly, until he notices that by some blessed miracle the seat right next to Italian boy’s is empty.

Kurt’s heart beats loudly in his chest, as he hurries to sit beside the boy he’s been thinking of too much lately. He glances up at him. Now or never. He almost went crazy thinking that he would never see Italian boy again, and this is a clear opportunity to talk to him, the one he’s been waiting for. He needs to do it, he needs to say something! He’s been learning Italian almost every day for three weeks now for god’s sake, he sure is able to say something, anything. 

He looks over at the guy’s book, and an idea springs inside his mind. What = _Cosa_ … To read = _leggere…_ He needs to change the person and the tense but he doesn’t remember if it’s _leggi_ or _legge_. Oh, whatever, Kurt thinks, his inner anxiety pushing him to speak.

_“Cosa legge?” [What are you reading?]_

The words resonate like an echo in Kurt’s mind as he waits for a reaction, feeling the claws of panic already digging inside of him. The guy’s eyes widen for a moment in surprise. Kurt feels his cheeks immediately grow hot, because he certainly must’ve used the wrong form. But then Italian boy blushes too, and clears his throat.

_“Oh, sto… leggendo,”[Oh, I’m… reading]_ he shows Kurt the cover, nervously shakes his head, _“Il Piccolo Principe. Parli italiano?” [The Little Prince. Do you speak Italian?]_

_“Si,” [Yes]_ Kurt says, not sure what to say next, adds _“Un po.” [A little]_ Then swallows a lump _“Parlo.” [I speak]_ he adds hesitantly, not sure about that ending. Is it just him, or does everything in Italian ends with an ‘o’?

The way he adds the phrase one word at a time and they both stare at each other for a moment in a twisted way breaks the tension, making them both smile. They’re acting very silly and it’s obvious that they are both quite nervous.

_“Mi chiamo Blaine,” [My name is Blaine]_ the Italian boy finally says.

_“Kurt Hummel,”_ he reaches to shake Blaine’s hand. It’s soft but firm, and fits perfectly in his own.

He has read somewhere that all nations with warm climates have warm souls, and that Italians kiss each other’s cheek three times upon greeting. He wouldn’t mind if Blaine did just that, but Blaine just smiles at him, charmingly as always.

_“Allora studi Italiano?” [So, you’re learning Italian?]_

_“Si, studio... Venti giorni, studio,” [Yes, I’m learning… Twenty days, I’m learning]_ Kurt gestures with his hands, holding his palms upright and making the movement for twenty. He wonders if it’s understandable.

_“Parli bene,” [You speak well]_ Blaine seems to be genuinely surprised, and Kurt can’t help but feel proud.

_“Grazie.” [Thank you]_

Then there’s silence, but somehow it’s not uncomfortable. All of a sudden Blaine starts talking really quickly.

_“Vuoi leggere con me? Io a volte leggo per le figlie di mio fratello, cioe’ per le mie nipotine e se vuoi praticare up po l’italiano puoi prendere il mio libro, a me farebbe piacere se tu…” [Do you want to read with me? Sometimes I read for my brother’s daughters, I mean for my nieces, and if you want to practice a little bit of Italian you can take my book, it would be a pleasure for me if you…]_

The phrase is a blur, a nightmare and Kurt’s newfound pride dissipates in seconds. He’s so dumbstruck by that speed that he doesn’t catch a single word. Blaine is looking at him expectantly, and Kurt simply nods, feeling tongue-tied.

Blaine gives him the book he’s reading, and Kurt doesn’t know what to do. Does he want him to read it? Should he read aloud? Reading is not that hard in his opinion. He learned all the rules of Italian pronunciation, and despite still being quite slow at actually reading, he has totally rid himself of the crazy American accent. Kurt has learned the importance of good enunciation still being in high-school, when his was the only French that resembled a sophisticated language, and all of his classmates sounded exactly like a bunch of American teenagers being forced to speak a language as if their goal was to make it sound as pretentions as possible.

So Kurt starts reading. He stumbles upon words, and Blaine helps him, guides him. It’s a pretty simple text and Kurt is surprised when he catches 90% of the meaning. Sure, he has read the Little Prince when he was little, but he forgot most of the details, and it’s still an impressive achievement in his opinion. Sometimes he doesn’t understand a word that is important for the plot, and so he questioningly looks up at Blaine.

_“Disegnami una pecora… Pecora?” [Draw me a sheep… Sheep?]_ he tilts his head at Blaine. This word doesn’t sound like anything similar he knows in English, but it makes him think of Pecorino, the cheese he uses for the salad. That is one damn good salad with cherry tomatoes and olive oil, but he still doubts the Little Prince shares his gastronomical passion.

Blaine chuckles, and points at the drawing under the text. There is an illustration of a sheep. Sheep, of course! Kurt groans in embarrassment, but Blaine’s laugh is sincere, he’s not meant to ridicule. Actually, on the contrary, Blaine can’t keep his eyes off Kurt’s face, and that gaze makes Kurt’s blood boil inside of him.

_“Hai una voce bellissima,” [Your voice is very beautiful]_ Blaine says in the sudden pause, when Kurt is turning the page.

_“Voce? Oh. Grazie. Tu anche,” [Voice? Oh. Thank you. You as well]_ Kurt nods, feeling shy all of a sudden. Blaine looks at him like he’s the only person in the world, even though they technically met only today, Kurt just can’t process how much he’s feeling right now.

Blaine’s pupils are dark and his lips are slightly parted. He looks so pretty that Kurt’s breath hitches. If he could, he would just lean in and kiss him, right then and there. But something tells him that it’s just insane. He doesn’t even know Blaine, can’t even properly communicate with him, can’t tell him how his eyes are as expressive as a million stars exploding in far away galaxies, how Kurt’s day brightens immediately when he remembers about Blaine when he’s serving bow-tie pasta at the Diner, how his heart thumps deafeningly loud in his chest whenever he’s anxiously waiting for the bus on Saturday mornings.

If he continues looking in those eyes he might internally combust or do something really stupid, so Kurt just returns his attention to the book, and continues reading for the rest of the ride as calmly as he can manage, his ears no doubt flaming-red and betraying all of his inner thoughts.

That night when Elliot and Jean Baptiste stumble home too late after what clearly was a wild party, they find Kurt asleep on the couch with the Italian textbook wide open on his chest. There are little sheep drawn all over the blank spots in the book, and Jean Baptiste says that he’s had enough of this goombah madness.

They call in for a classic tv-series style intervention, and Kurt finally admits out loud that there is someone who caught his interest. Elliot knowingly smirks into his beer, and Jean Baptiste shrieks loudly, making Elliot and Kurt once again question the degree of fluidness in his sexuality. Jean Baptiste starts bombarding him with accusations of betrayal – ‘How could Kurt not tell him anything about the mysterious Italian guy? Can he sing? What is his range?’ Elliot, for he is a bit drunk from the club and still drinking, has no filter and follows with questions whether it’s true what they say about Italian guys, and Kurt just hides his face in his hands. He hates when Elliot drinks and Jean Baptiste channels his inner drama queen. Kurt can’t take it anymore. This thing between him and Blaine feels very pure and he doesn’t want to share it with his weird friends. Kurt abruptly stands up and stops their torrent of questions and teasing, walks into his part of the room and without finesse shuts the privacy curtain. He’s had enough of their American madness too.

From that day the “I” word is banned in the loft.

* * *

The next Saturday when Kurt flies up the steps of the bus and catches Blaine’s eyes, he can’t help but feel his heart do a somersault. Blaine never said anything about, well, meeting again, that’s why it’s such a relief seeing him there. And then Blaine actually waves at him and pats the seat next to his and Kurt feels like he might die.

Kurt is still too tongue-tied to actually hold a decent conversation, so after a brief communication half-based on signs, he offers one of his earbuds to Blaine and they listen to a few songs together, most of them Italian, laughing and lip syncing to them (so they won’t disturb the other passengers). It almost seems like Blaine can sing in English, and when he mouths along ‘I’ll be your Teenage Dream tonight’ Kurt feels short of breath. The teasing, the flirting, the earnest expression - it suits him so much… Kurt doesn’t know if Blaine is a performer, or if he just feels so much, but the songs makes all of him shine from the inside, and Kurt basks in that warmth that radiates from him in those moments.

He has a new task to cross off his bucket list. He just needs to sing a duet with Blaine, even if he has to impeccably learn some Italian songs for that.

_“Mi piacciono le tue canzoni, abbiamo dei gusti simili,” [I like your songs, we have a similar taste]_ Blaine says, after they listen to a few other songs, from showtunes to old hits to modern songs.

_“Noi siamo simili,” [We are similar]_ Kurt agrees, and Blaine looks at him with an almost imperceptible hope.

That day, when Blaine stands up to make his way to the exit, Kurt’s palms start sweating. He needs to ask him, he needs to have a promise. So at the last possible moment, Kurt catches the strap of his bag, and finally asks Blaine, voice breaking half-way through the phrase.

_“La prossima volta?” [The next time?]_

He’s not sure if Blaine understood him, but he doesn’t know how to say that he’s scared to find the bus empty next time, terrified that he might not see Blaine’s colorful bowtie and not hear his cheerful laugh ever again because of some stupid unrelated circumstances.

_“Certo,” [Sure]_ Blaine nods simply, a smile lighting up his whole face.

* * *   
With Blaine’s promise fueling his heart from the inside, the next week Kurt stands on the bus stop holding a little box from Gino’s Pastries, tied with a blue ribbon and still warm from its content. Which are two freshly baked Sicilian cannoli, filled with a tender vanilla-flavored cream and little semi-sweet chocolate pieces. The smell itself is to die for, and he can’t wait for the bus to arrive. Kurt’s hands tremble a little bit while holding the box. He wants Blaine to be on the bus today, and he wants Blaine not to find him creepy and he wants Blaine not to be on a diet or have food allergies. Nervousness fills him up to the brim when he finally spots the bus appearing around the corner.

The second he steps inside he sees Blaine, waving at him and smiling like the previous time, and he sighs in relief.

_“Ciao, Kurt,”_ Blaine says, moving to sit next to the window and offering Kurt the seat he thoughtfully saved for him. Kurt loves the sound of his own name in Blaine’s mouth, so different from all the American Kurts he has heard all his life.

_“Ciao,”_ Kurt replies, and as soon as he’s seated, hands the box over to Blaine, and then breathes out the phrase he previously translated and memorized for the occasion, _“Io ho portato un regalo per te.” [I brought a present for you]._

_“Per me?” [For me?]_ Blaine’s eyes widen and he looks at Kurt questioningly, taking the box. Kurt nods, not sure what else he can say.

Blaine stares at the box for a few beats too long and Kurt tries not to fidget in his seat impatiently. Those stupid stomach butterflies are eroding him from the inside.

_“Wow,”_ Blaine says, finally opening and looking at the content, _“Gli conosco, questi sono buonissimi! Da bambino I miei me li compravano sempre, cioe, non sempre, quando facevo il bravo, pero’ dio mio, questi non gli ho mangiati da una vita!” [I know these, they’re so delicious! When I was a kid my folks always used to buy them for me, I mean, not always, when I behaved, but oh god, I haven’t eaten them in a lifetime!]_

He says it all in one breath and his eyes seem to sparkle and he smiles so wide and looks at Kurt with that one look that makes Kurt melt, the one that is like he’s the only person in the whole damn universe. Kurt has no clue what the mini-speech meant, but from the way Blaine’s looking at him, he just knows he did the right thing.

_“Non dovevi!” [You shouldn’t have!]_ Blaine glances back and forth between the box and Kurt again.

_“Pero’… volevo,” [But… I wanted to]_ Kurt says, surprising even himself at his level, and Blaine blushes, actually blushes.

_“Per favore, prendi,” [Please, take]_ Kurt says again, nudging the box closer into Blaine’s hands. Before taking one, Blaine offers one to Kurt and he tentatively wraps it in a napkin.

As soon as Blaine bites down the creamy deliciousness, he moans out loud at the taste in a manner which may be considered obscene and proceeds to say _‘deliziosi’, ‘buonissimi’, ‘fantastici’ [delicious, so tasty, fantastic]_ every few bites.

If it were anyone else, Kurt might think that they were just being sarcastic, but Blaine was genuine in his emotions, and he truly wore his heart on a sleeve. ‘Like a true Italian,’ Kurt thought, taking a bite. The cannoli were really great, he often bought pastries at Gino’s but this time they were even more delicious than usual, fresh and warm and filled with tender cream, definitely from the first morning batch.

They ate some more in comfortable silence, and then Kurt closed the box and made Blaine hide it in his bag, saying _“Per te. Per dopo”. [For you. For later]_

_“Grazie, sei molto gentile, Kurt,” [Thank you, it’s very kind of you, Kurt]_ Blaine replied, _“Gli portero’ alle mie nipotine, mi aspettano anche oggi.” [I’ll bring them for my nieces, they’ve been waiting for me today too]_

Kurt didn’t quite catch the second part, but there was gratitude in Blaine’s eyes, so he smiled anyway. It was truly great how something so simple like dessert could feel so monumental only because eaten in Blaine’s company. Certainly, whenever Kurt would see cannoli from now on, he would remember this precious time on the bus, he would remember the warmth and the tenderness, and those cannoli could never exist for him disconnected from Blaine. Not that he minded. It was actually scary how many more memories he wanted to make, all connected to Blaine.

_“Hai della crema su…” [You have some cream on…]_ Blaine said, interrupting Kurt’s daydream and touching his own upper lip.

What does it mean? Is it some sort of exclusively Italian gesture? Kurt has read that the gestures for Italians are sort of like another language, that can express almost anything, but he didn’t get too deep into it.

Well, he should’ve but now it’s too late, and Kurt has no idea what to do. 

Kurt stared at Blaine nervously, unsure.

Blaine smiled touching his upper lip again, and Kurt still didn’t get the meaning, tilted his head like he always did when he expected Blaine to explain.

He carefully watched Blaine take a napkin, prepared to decipher whatever the mysterious gestures meant, and with almost cat-like curiosity watched Blaine fold it. Then Blaine carefully took the napkin and lifted up to – Kurt’s eyes widened - to Kurt’s face and wiped some cream off the corner of Kurt’s mouth, and in that moment Kurt felt if though they were completely alone in the entire planet, and time and space were irrelevant, and his heartbeat could stop too without any consequences. 

It was such an intimate and attentive gesture, as if Blaine truly cared about him, as if they had known each other all their lives. 

_“Oh, s-scusa, grazie,” [Oh, s-sorry, thank you]_ Kurt stuttered. He felt his palms sweat where he curled them into fists.

_“Di niente,” [It’s nothing]_ Blaine said, his voice lower than usual and his eyes dropping at Kurt’s lips once more, making Kurt’s heart beat faster. It could be so easy, just to lean in… He faced away from Blaine, feeling his blood rush to his cheeks.

It is the little things that make one feel too much.

* * *

Kurt’s hair is soaked. He should’ve brought an umbrella, he’s never so careless, especially about fashion accessories. But that morning he was too anxious and all but ran out of the apartment without letting Jean Baptiste finish his rant about finding the perfect costume for a performance for Carmen Tibideaux. Saturdays seem to have this new effect on him.

It started pouring when he reached the bus stop, and by the time he enters the vehicle his perfectly styled hair is ruined.

Kurt sits in his usual spot (and oh how this thought warms his heart – he has a usual spot on the bus now, next to the Italian boy himself), passing a hand self-consciously through his hair, trying to keep it more upright. He knows that with his hair down he looks at least five years younger, and he honestly thinks Blaine should be spared that visual.

Leaning closer into Kurt’s personal space, Blaine tries to strike up a simple dialogue, talks about the weather, and though anything coming from Blaine’s mouth is immensely interesting to Kurt, right now he can’t concentrate on giving answers. He keeps stroking his own hair, wondering how awful it must’ve become. He knows it probably will only get worse when one constantly touches it, but he can’t help it.

All of a sudden Blaine reaches inside his bag and takes out an elegant pocket mirror, handing it to Kurt.

As soon as he sees his own reflection, Kurt cries out in frustration, _“Oh, merde!” [French: Oh, shit!]_

He rushes to fix it because it’s even in a worse mess after a night’s sleep and he can’t, he can’t just… But then he can feel Blaine staring at him, and suddenly Kurt realizes he just swore in French. He wants the bus seat to swallow him whole, covers his face with a hand in embarrassment and mentally curses Jean Baptiste for it. The fault is entirely his for insisting to swear in French to be more classy, even though his only connection to France is his name. Jeez, Kurt didn’t want to look awful in front of Blaine, but apparently he just made an (unmannered) fool out of himself, which is even worse.

His cheeks are hot under his fingers, and he peeks at Blaine, to find him laughing, his eyes sparkling with amusement. His lips curl up into a half-shy half-apologetic smile.

_“Scusa tanto,” [I’m so sorry]_ Kurt says under his breath, fidgeting a little in his seat. He still grips tight at the pocket mirror, hoping he can fix his hair ninja-style, when Blaine isn’t looking.

_“Veramente,” [Actually]_ Blaine takes a breath between his laughter, _“Dovresti dire ‘merda’, se vuoi dirlo in Italiano perfetto,” [You should say ‘merda’, if you want to say it in perfect Italian]_ Blaine bumps his shoulder into Kurt’s.

Kurt stares at Blaine incredulously and then laughs too. Well, he certainly didn’t expect to become an expert in multilingual swear words, but he’s certainly on the right way. He has read that Italians swear a lot, and it’s perfectly normal for them to convey their turbulent emotions in such way. It’s all part of culture, and culture is a part of language, so shouldn’t he be learning that too?

_“Merda,”_ he repeats in contemplation under his breath a few times, the way he does when he learns a new word.

_“Si, merda,”_ Blaine says, nodding with pretense seriousness and enunciating it even more clearly.

They grin at each other, and though it’s not something Kurt imagined ever happening, he thinks this moment between them is perfect.

And then he hears Blaine’s tentative, _“Posso?” [Can I?]_

He turns to face him and notices that Blaine has a tiny jar of hair gel in his hands. It only makes sense, he uses so much of it, that it would be strange not to bring it with him in case of emergencies. Kurt looks up to find Blaine’s puppy dog eyes staring at him.

If it were anyone else in the entire universe, Kurt would’ve said ‘Never.’ He would’ve crossed his arms on his chest and given them his best bitch-face that would make sure they didn’t come nowhere near his hair for at least a few light years.

But then there’s Blaine.

_“Si,”_ Kurt murmurs.

It might be considered cheating, because he just wants to feel Blaine’s fingers touching his hair, and oh that is a strange wish indeed, because Kurt never wanted it, not even with Adam.

Blaine lets out a cute victory noise and takes some gel, then concentrates like a puppy who is about to sprint to catch the thrown Frisbee.

_“Un po, per favore, solo un po,” [A little, please, just a little]_ Kurt adds frantically, because that much hair gel of an unknown and potentially harmful brand near his hair seems to be enough to break out of his Blaine-can-do-anything-hypnosis.

_“Calma e sangue freddo,” [idiomatic phrase: Keep calm, literally ‘calm and cold blood’]_ Blaine says, curling Kurt’s hair in the front a few times in well-practiced movements.

Kurt once again doesn’t get it, he just knows _‘calma’_ because it’s an imperative and sounds a bit like ‘calm’ in English. What does the rest of the phrase mean?

_“Calma e… san guefreddo?”_ he repeats in question.

Blaine chuckles, _“Si, calma e sangue freddo,”_ he nods, brushing a few times to keep Kurt’s hair upright.

_“San Guefreddo?”_ Kurt repeats, dividing the two words very clearly and thinking that probably the last part is a saint’s name, since _‘San’_ definitely means ‘Saint’. Italians are very religious and worship a lot of saints in the Catholic Church. Maybe Blaine is trying to tell him to be calm like that poor martyr of a saint that got crucified by the Roman heretics?

_“No, no, sangue, mmm,”_ Blaine momentarily thinks, then points at the veins on his wrist a few times, _“Dentro c’e sangue.” [There’s blood inside]_

There’s something inside. Hmm. Bones? Muscles? Nerves? Blood. Okay, something of the sort. Kurt nods.

_“Freddo,”_ Blaine crosses his arms and strokes over his biceps, making a brrr-noise with a gesture that in any language means ‘cold’.

Right! Cold, Kurt learned that word before, he just forgot it. He nods again and when Blaine returns his attention to the hair, thinks. Cold nerves? That must be something like a constant expression to make someone calm down. 

He’ll have to check in the dictionary, but even so he thinks his level is definitely progressing. And though he gets about half of what Blaine is saying, it’s nice that Blaine is still willing to explain without ridiculing him.

_“Finito,” [Finished]_ Blaine says, and leans away from Kurt, making him momentarily miss the sensation of Blaine’s hands in his hair.

Kurt checks himself in the mirror and is actually impressed by the result. He wouldn’t style his hair like that, he wouldn’t use gel without hairspray, but in the end Blaine made him look the best in a seemingly impossible situation.

_“Grazie,” [Thank you]_ he says giving Blaine back his mirror, _“Adesso io sono fantastico.” [Now I’m fantastic]_

Blaine laughs out loud, and that’s a good sign, because Kurt wasn’t sure if he’d get the sassiness. It’s nice to know that Blaine likes to laugh around him, and making him laugh is actually the best feeling ever.

But then it gets even more perfect, because Blaine puts a hand on Kurt’s forearm.

_“Tu fai sempre zig quando penso che starai per fare zag e ti adoro per questo.” [You always zig when I think you’re about to zag and I adore you for that]_

Kurt doesn’t get the meaning because he’s too busy feeling the way Blaine’s hand presses into the material of his shirt, and being aware of all the atoms that connect them, but he loves the warmth in Blaine’s voice, his tone like he’s sharing a secret or making a confession. He also sincerely loves that Blaine is touching his forearm, because it’s intimate and old-fashioned and leaves him a choice.

He is short for words, he doesn’t know if he could ever say what he wants to say to Blaine even if they were communicating in English, so he just reaches to cover Blaine’s hand with his own. It’s electric, new, exciting but at the same time loving and cozy and right. 

Blaine looks pleasantly surprised, but he’s not freaked out, so Kurt decides that it’s a good sign.

They sit in their cozy bubble of not-actually-holding-hands-but-quite-so on Kurt’s forearm in comfortable silence for the rest of the ride, listening to the sound of rain tapping insistently on the windows of the bus and watching the colorful umbrellas of the people in the streets. And maybe they do look weird to a third party observer, but to them somehow it’s not weird in the least. 

That’s why Kurt is sad to realize Blaine’s stop is approaching and he’ll have to get off the bus, and then they won’t see each other for the entirety of 7 long exhausting days.

Blaine gets up to leave, breaking their hand-touching contact and Kurt feels the pain as he was ripping a band-aid off. But then he sees Blaine nudging something into his hands and realizes it’s an umbrella.

_“Pero e’ tuo,” [But it’s yours]_ Kurt says, wondering how could Blaine just give him his umbrella when outside it’s raining harder than during the Great Flood.

_“Non fa niente, tu ne hai bisogno piu di me,” [It’s okay, you need it more than I do]_ Blaine says, shrugging and then points at his pocket where he has tucked the hair gel jar, _“Io ho questo.” [I have this]_

Kurt takes the umbrella with senseless hands. The doors of the bus open, and Kurt watches Blaine step off, partly covering himself with his bag.

_“La prossima volta,” [The next time]_ Kurt says, right before Blaine steps out.

_“La prossima volta,” [The next time]_ Blaine mouths to him through the foggy window, as Kurt clutches tightly at Blaine’s bright red umbrella.


	4. Secondo

It’s a beautiful late-spring morning of the most blessed day of the week, Saturday, and Kurt and Blaine are riding the bus to Little Italy. Kurt is conjuring up the longest paragraph he has ever said in Italian: he’s talking about his canary. That is practically lesson 15 of the intermediate level, because describing your pet is no easy task. He’s sure he’s making a lot of mistakes along the way, and he’s talking very slowly, always forgetting words and feeling like he doesn’t know enough of them at all. He can’t just randomly alter English words so they sound more Italian, right?

Blaine listens very carefully and corrects his mistakes just gently and softly, and Kurt is grateful that with Blaine he doesn’t feel stupid if he makes a lot of mistakes.

He’s in the middle of the phrase _‘Pavarotti canta come un soprano’ [Pavarotti sings like a soprano]_ when the cellphone starts ringing loudly with the tune of Lady Gaga’s Artpop.

He huffs out an apology and then rolls his eyes when he sees that it’s Jean Baptiste. The guy called him two times already when Kurt was at the bus stop, all because of a new coffee machine they just bought the previous day, and Kurt’s had enough of this. His time with Blaine isn’t long enough and the encounters are strictly weekly, so he doesn’t want to spend a single second explaining to Jean Baptiste how to make a double-espresso.

Quickly pressing the receiving button Kurt doesn’t even bother to say hello.

“Please Jean, not now. I already told you to read the instructions! Yes, they’re in the box. The blue one,” Kurt manages to say as calmly as possible.

He glances over at Blaine, shooting him a quick apologetic glance.

“No, I’m with the cute boy on the bus. Of course the Italian one, who else would it be? I know we banned the word Italian from the loft, Jean, but I’m not in the loft right now, okay? And it’s only because Elliot kept getting drunk and asking me about the size of his… Oh god. Look, I don’t get nearly enough time with him. Talk to you later, okay, JB? Bye, bye.”

When Kurt finally ends the call, and looks over at Blaine, he seems to be an entirely different person. He’s staring at Kurt with genuine shock, eyes wide like saucers.

Kurt tries to remember the phrase for ‘What’s wrong?’, while Blaine’s eyebrows rise so high they might soon levitate above his face. Then he swallows a lump down his throat and mutters in perfect English. 

“Oh my god, this is absolutely… I think I missed a few details here. How do you… How…”

Now it’s Kurt’s turn to look stunned. He can’t believe his own ears, this must be some sort of hallucination. Blaine’s mouth just moved and it was Blaine’s voice that produced those sounds that formed what was obviously a very native-speaking level of an English phrase and this might mean…

“W-what, aren’t you Italian?”

“Aren’t you German?”

They stare at each other, both extremely confused.

Kurt seriously feels his insides going dizzy, and he finally murmurs, “But I’m so American, I have such an American accent.”

“No you don’t, I assure you that your Italian pronunciation didn’t give away the whole American thing… Not at all!” Blaine says, eyes still comically wide, sitting as still as ever.

“Well thank you, but… German? Really?”

“I just immediately assumed you were German! You never told me a single word in English and your name is Kurt Hummel! It’s insane, but you look just so much like the Hummel Figurines, oh god-”

“Oh no, not the Hummel figurines, you have no idea how I suffered in elementary school because of…” Kurt feels the wheels inside his brain spinning too fast, as if he’s forgetting something important. He takes a breath, and immediately jumps at the next train of thought. 

“But HOW are you not Italian? You’re so Italian! You read Italian books and… and…”

“My mother is Italian, so I’m half-Italian,” Blaine explains, rubbing the nape of his neck in embarrassment, “But my dad’s side of the family is all as American as it can get, probably since the discovery!”

“You never spoke English before, so I just assumed… Oh my god, this is a mess!” Kurt groans, covering his face in his hands.

“I can’t believe we never even tried talking in English! We’re both so hopeless,” Blaine exhales, still very stunned.

They share a silence, each boy immersed in his own thoughts. How did it never come up between them?

“It’s weird talking English all of a sudden,” Blaine finally says, looking at Kurt.

“True. But also it’s kind of liberating because I have no idea how to say in Italian that that guy’s sweater is probably why aliens never contacted us in the first place and those pants should be put in a shredder as soon as possible,” Kurt says in one breath, and soon Blaine is laughing.

The air between them is charged with something new.

“I knew you were funny in Italian, but in English I actually get that it’s you speaking and not accidentally messing up Italian words,” Blaine says earnestly.

“So you’re saying that my Italian is really awful, aren’t you?” Kurt can’t help but tease, with a grin.

“No, Kurt,” Blaine says quickly, “Your Italian is very good. Especially the pronunciation. And even though you have a certain accent, it’s so not the usual American one.”

Kurt blushes. He’s not used to the way Blaine talks so openly and earnestly, but it draws him in most of all.

“Well, you’re a very good teacher,” he says shyly, looking up at Blaine.

“I actually am. A kindergarten teacher. Well, I want to be. I’m studying to become one.”

“Oh my… ” Kurt has to look away for one second, to regain his composure. He won’t allow himself to squeal in front of Blaine, “You will make the best teacher ever, Blaine. I’m not just saying that, I thought you were some kind of performer, to be honest.”

“Teaching is kind of like performing, especially when you’re teaching kids,” Blaine grins, visibly pleased at Kurt’s words, “I never got around to asking you what you do, Kurt.”

“I study at NYADA, and do some projects for Vogue dot com and work part-time at the Spotlight Diner,” Kurt shrugs in return with an air of nonchalance, “Not busy at all.”

“Wow. That makes perfect sense though, your clothes and… Your voice is just something else,” Blaine blushes, averts his eyes. “What is your major?”

“Performing arts. That’s why I thought you were a fellow performer.”

“I didn’t know one had to study Italian for performing arts,” Blaine’s eyebrows furrow momentarily, and Kurt’s heart jumps up in his chest. He probably should come clean now to avoid any further confusion. 

“One doesn’t…” Kurt says slowly, biting his lower lip, “I just decided to learn it one day.”

“Huh.”

“I kept seeing this, uhm, cute boy on the bus and decided that for some reason I couldn’t just try to talk to him in English like a normal person and definitely had to learn Italian to woo him properly,” Kurt says, skin flushing hot. Though his words are bold, inside he feels more like a mashed potato salad. The expression on Blaine’s face stays the same for a few seconds too long.

“Oh god, I’m sorry, you’re just friendly, aren’t you? Like all Italians are? I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” Kurt presses hard on the breaks inside his mind. He probably was reading all the signs wrong due to cultural differences and this guy is as straight as they come, most likely with a gorgeous girlfriend in the modeling business and a passion for beer.

“No, Kurt, definitely not just friendly,” Blaine breathes out, looking down bashfully and keeping himself from smiling too wide.

If he were alone, Kurt would probably make some embarrassing victory noise out loud, but now he just tries to make himself stop from hyperventilating. He can’t believe his luck, can’t believe that Blaine is real, and here and talking in a perfectly accessible language, and seems to be as adorable and polite and charming as he was in Kurt’s mind. Everything happened – keeps happening so fast, and Kurt has no idea what to say, probably for the first time in his life.

“Listen, I…” he begins.

“I wanted to tell you…” Blaine starts at the same time.

“Hey boys! It’s the last stop,” the driver shouts, startling them both from their trance-like state, “I’m gonna ask you to leave.”

“Oh crap, I missed my stop,” Blaine breathes out, eyes going wide.

“I missed mine too,” Kurt says, and though he’s surprised that they were so engrossed in the conversation they actually managed to get to the last stop without noticing, he definitely doesn’t care that he missed it, or that he won’t see his mafia guys today.

When they both get out of the bus, Blaine glances at his elegant wristwatch. He looks up Kurt in the eyes with an air of guilt.

“If I walk fast I might still get there before Stephanie has to go,” he murmurs, then adds apologetically, “But I so don’t want to leave you. And we’re heading in the same direction. Would you… walk with me? Or is it too weird?”

“Blaine, I think between us nothing is going to be too weird anymore. We spent two months just riding the bus and awkwardly practicing the language of Dante,” Kurt says, already stepping up to walk beside Blaine, “But I guess I’ll have to skip my self-defense classes, they already started.”

“You take self-defense classes?” Blaine’s eyes shift quickly to Kurt’s arms, probably trying to picture his biceps, and the fast glance doesn’t go unnoticed by Kurt.

“Yeah, that’s actually why I ride the bus,” Kurt smiles, “What about you?”

“Oh, I told you but I guess…” Blaine trails off, “I babysit my brother’s kids.”

Then Blaine proceeds to tell him for two more blocks about Mariella and Lucia, how they’re the cutest six-year old twins and how they adored the cannoli from Gino’s that Kurt brought him, how they love to sing with Uncle Blaine and how he’s trying to teach them Italian, so they can be proud of their heritage. It’s nice to hear Blaine talk (so comprehensibly!) about kids, plus he’s gesturing a lot with his hands, which makes any story much more expressive and lively. As Kurt imagines Blaine taking care of the little curly-haired girls, his heart melts.

Somehow Kurt never visualized the process of simply walking beside Blaine, and now that they’re walking down a busy street it feels surreal. For one, they’re no longer in that happy bubble of time and space that is the Saturday morning bus, and secondly, they’re trying to keep up with each other’s pace and brushing at each other’s shoulders, and Kurt is visibly taller and Blaine keeps looking up at him every five seconds, and nearly walks into a pole one time, and Kurt keeps watching Blaine, as if trying to memorize his every detail, and nearly steps on a minuscule Chihuahua, much to the dismay of the owner. 

“I’m sorry that I didn’t understand all of what you were saying to me on the bus,” Kurt confesses, as they round a corner.

With all the shortcuts they arrived at Blaine’s brother’s apartment complex in less than fifteen minutes.

“Don’t apologize, Kurt, I’m blown away that you went through the trouble of learning Italian just so you could speak to me,” Blaine says, stepping up the stairs of the building, and then faces him. Now that they’re eye-level, he looks Kurt in the eyes and says very seriously, “It’s the most amazing crazily romantic thing that has ever happened to me.”

“You’re lucky you’re half-Italian then, because I wouldn’t have learned Arabic no matter how dreamy you could’ve been,” Kurt jokes, making Blaine chuckle, even though Blaine’s words leave him breathless and desperate to hear more. 

The tension is so thick one could cut it with a knife, and suddenly Kurt remembers a tiny detail.

He quickly takes out his phone, and hands it to Blaine, “I guess I’m doing it backwards, but I really don’t want to wait another week to see you.”

Blushing a little, Blaine nods and quickly types his number into Kurt’s phone, and then dials himself to get Kurt’s number.

Having his phone back with Blaine’s number in it, Kurt feels like doing a happy dance right then and there. How can anything top this? After so much time spent pining, he finally gets the boy’s number.

But then Blaine suddenly steps closer, so close that Kurt can count Blaine’s eyelashes one by one. He puts a hand on Kurt’s forearm, and just gently rubs his thumb in the material of Kurt’s cardigan.

“I’m so sorry that I have to leave you here. I hate doing this, after everything that happened today,” Blaine says softly, and Kurt thinks he could honestly get lost in that sweet caramel voice, “I feel like we haven’t spent enough time re-discovering each other.”

Kurt doesn’t say anything, can’t say anything without melting into a puddle on the sidewalk, but he also doesn’t need to say anything, because his blushing cheeks and tiny nod give everything away.

And then, Blaine reaches his other hand to Kurt’s neck, and hugs Kurt tight, pressing close, breathing him in. Kurt embraces him too, though more by instinct, because in that moment he absolutely loses his ability to control his motor skills. And though the hug is brief, it means the world to both of them.

“I’ll see you”, Blaine whispers right into his ear, sending shivers down Kurt’s spine. Then Blaine slides his hands down Kurt’s arms, deliberately slow, as if he truly doesn’t want to unpeel himself from Kurt’s skin and say goodbye. When he enters the building, Kurt remains standing on those steps a little too long.

Kurt feels numb all over as he walks to the bus stop. He replays today’s conversations with Blaine over and over again in his head, replays that hug and feels everything inside grow warm. How did he get so lucky?

When he gets on the bus, his phone buzzes.

Incoming Text. From: Blaine  
 _I know I’m probably being incredibly cheesy, but I’m so glad we’ve met Kurt._

Outgoing text. From: Kurt  
 _I feel like we’ve known each other forever._

Outgoing text. From: Kurt  
 _Who’s cheesy now?_

Incoming Text. From: Blaine  
 _:P_

Incoming Text. From: Blaine  
 _We’ll see who’s more cheesy when I properly ask you out on our very first date_

Incoming Text. From: Kurt  
 _Oh, it’s on, sweetie! It’s on._


	5. Contorno

Now Kurt’s Saturdays are a bit different. He still takes the same bus, and sits in the same spot near the same cute boy, and attends the same self-defense class, but then instead of returning home and meeting Elliot for the yoga practice (which they moved to Sunday morning), he walks a few blocks to Cooper Anderson’s house, and sometimes even comes in and helps Blaine with Mariella and Lucia. The girls usually don’t want to let Blaine go, not even when mommy Stephanie and daddy Cooper come home. They tug his fancy lobster cardigan’s sleeves so hard they surely stretch it, and Kurt knows that Blaine loves these girls too much, if he lets them treat his clothes so. When they become truly insufferable Blaine says that he will agree to stay but only if he and Kurt can talk all about how they love each other so so much and then start making gross kissing noises, so the girls shriek and laugh and run into the other room. 

Kurt knows it probably should freak him out, the speed with which he’s falling in love, but on the other hand, falling completely head over heels for Blaine is the most natural, the most beautiful thing he has ever done.

Turns out, Blaine is definitely the cheesy one. Nothing could top the fact that he serenaded Kurt on their third date, albeit with no music accompaniment, but Kurt couldn’t resist kissing him right then and there, in the middle of a very public park, throwing all caution to the wind, crowding his personal space in every way possible, holding his face with both hands and just kissing, kissing and kissing him like the starving man he has been for so long.

Though Blaine is only half-Italian, he takes pride in his origins. Very soon Kurt finds out that Blaine volunteers at the local Italian Culture Center, has customary Sunday lunch with all the members of his enormous family, and even goes to church, though more for cultural tradition and the spirit of community, than for true belief.

Initially Kurt was quite scared of joining Blaine, but little by little he lets himself be dragged to Blaine’s uncle’s Italian restaurant, to the library in the Italian Culture Center, even to the Catholic Church (but only because Blaine briefly took part in the Church choir). It’s not like him at all, but Blaine wakes something good inside of him, a thirst for knowledge and a need to experience new things.

Kurt particularly cherishes the way Blaine tries to teach him everything he knows.

They attend the festival of Italian cinema, and Blaine spends half a movie translating the quick dialogue and explaining the quirks, whispering softly right into Kurt’s ear. His stomach flips more than once when Blaine says something sweet, repeating it after the main character, his warm breath against Kurt’s neck, his whole body leaning closer to Kurt, his hand squeezing tightly at Kurt’s. It’s pure torture, listening to Blaine and not being able to do anything about it, it’s absolutely terrible and Kurt wouldn’t give up a second of it for anything in the world.

Once, Kurt has spent a whole afternoon researching for the perfect pesto sauce recipe, determined to surprise Blaine. He finds the most authentic one, which needs a whole lot of things and a whole lot of time, and busies himself in the kitchen. He gets so into it, that by the time Blaine arrives, Kurt already has prepared a seafood soup, a Caprese salad, some Tagliatelle with pesto Genovese and was quick to finish the Tiramisu dessert. Needless to say, Elliot and Jean Baptiste ate almost everything like the pigs they were, but the way Blaine looked at him for the whole evening, with gratitude and admiration was worth every second of tiresome cooking.

After dinner and over wine, when Blaine was laying half in Kurt’s lap, he confessed to Kurt that he already asked his grandmother if he could invite Kurt over for the traditional family lunch. Kurt’s stomach did a somersault, not because Blaine’s family was religious or conservative (he knew they supported Blaine in everything he did), but because it was a big deal, and it truly showed all of Blaine’s intentions towards him. And even though Kurt (and Blaine) might need a few months to psychologically prepare themselves for this kind of event, just the thought that Blaine was already considering it seriously meant the whole world.

In the meantime, their dating life didn’t entirely revolve around Blaine’s heritage, because Kurt found out that Blaine was equally eager to learn everything about Kurt, as he was about Blaine. Kurt sneaked him into NYADA multiple times, just to watch the performances of important guests, or to mess around with the props, or so that his boyfriend could witness with his own eyes the fierce behind-the-curtain drama of it all. Blaine loved the theater just as much, and seeing his eyes light up because of the tiniest details warmed Kurt’s heart in indescribable ways.

Pavarotti died on a Saturday, and Kurt was absolutely devastated. 

He didn’t want to see anyone at all, first and foremost Jean Baptiste and not even Elliot. In these past months, when Kurt first started learning Italian and when Blaine slowly made his way to become one of the most important people in his life, Pavarotti was a constant presence. Somehow, the little canary became a symbol of all things Italian in Kurt’s life, even a symbol of his and Blaine’s love. He inspired Kurt, and singing together was something that could give Kurt hope even on the darkest days. 

Kurt moped around the apartment for a day or two, until Blaine surprised him with a bouquet of red and yellow roses. And even though it didn’t alleviate Kurt’s pain, Blaine’s support was incredibly important for him, because it came from a place of caring. It made Kurt fall a little bit more in love.

On the same night after burying Pavarotti in a bedazzled casket, they make love for the first time. And even though it might seem strange (in fact the next time Elliot gets drunk he can’t shut up about a certain bird fetish), but for Kurt there’s nothing strange about it. They were lying in bed, cuddling close, and as Blaine was stroking Kurt’s back in a comforting gesture, he started talking about soulmates. His words were so effortless and real, almost tangible, and Kurt was entranced. He talked about his life, saying just how happy he was to find Kurt so early in this lifetime, to fall in love with him all over again. He talked about how nothing seemed to click before Kurt, and his words were extremely powerful. Sometimes he would utter some phrases in Italian, and Kurt felt them echo inside his heart.

Since he was a little a kid, Kurt always felt the need to believe in beautiful things, in romance, in magic and love and first sight, in marriage and soulmates. It gave him strength to survive, to face the difficulties that life threw in his face one after another. The voice of reason inside his head whispered that all of this wasn’t real, it was a fairy tale for kids and with each passing day Kurt felt the delusion dig deeper into his mind… But with Blaine in his life, the whole world turned. With Blaine, he could believe in love and romance, in soulmates, it wasn’t something that he had to understand, but only something that he felt inside his heart.

When Blaine murmurs _“Ti ho cercato da una vita.” [I’ve been looking for you forever]_ , Kurt knows he’s never going to let Blaine go.

He ended up crying from the whole overwhelming feeling that took hold of his body and soul, and he kissed Blaine deep and passionate, because being vulnerable with Blaine wasn’t scary in the least and because he does, he loves Blaine with all his heart, and he isn’t alone in it all. They shed their clothes, with shyness and anticipation, and rediscovered one another, touched each other in the gentlest of ways, making the sweetest love the earth has ever seen. Blaine cried too, moving with Kurt, breathing in his moans, and kissing every inch of his skin.

Afterwards, as he laid naked and unashamed, pliant and so happy beside Blaine, Kurt decided that he didn’t need anymore symbols, because he has the real Blaine within a heartbeat’s reach. 

Quite a few Saturdays pass, and then there is sudden news of Jean Baptiste joining the European troupe to perform with the Cirque de Soleil, and a few weeks after that news of Elliot moving out permanently to live with his sick grandma to take care of her. Even though it was incredibly hard surviving with them, Kurt will miss his boys. 

One evening Kurt invites Blaine over for a dinner with creamy mushroom soup and lasagna and after dessert Kurt has a whole speech prepared for the occasion. They sit and eat and laugh and talk and Kurt has something warm growing inside of him, filling him up to the brim. They move to the couch and though Kurt wants to get on with his speech, when he looks into Blaine’s warm hazel-honey eyes he forgets about everything. He gets choked up in the middle of the first phrase and then just ends up saying _“Vieni a vivere con me” [Come live with me]_. He hands Blaine a key to the loft and stares at him with fear and anticipation. And though maybe it’s too soon, Blaine gasps out a _“Si”_ and kisses him and keeps kissing him from the kitchen all the way to Kurt’s bed, and doesn’t stop kissing him until the wee hours of the morning.


	6. Dolce

“What… What do you want to do?” Blaine asks, and technically it’s not a very fair question, because it was him who tackled Kurt on the bed after the shower and kissed him deeply until they were both out of breath.

Even though they’ve been living together for a few months, and been intimate for so much more, Kurt finds it difficult to talk about what he wants. Blaine is very, very generous in bed, eager to do anything and everything, and gives all of himself to make them both feel heavenly, and Kurt is happy with all they do, he is, but he’s still quite shy when it comes to talking about it.

This time he thinks he could. Kurt wants something, has been wanting it for a long time, and he’s sure that wall of insecurity inside of him is breaking right now. He hopes Blaine would be fine with that, otherwise it might be awkward and embarrassing. He just needs to say what is on his mind, because it has been bothering him since as long as he can remember. 

Blaine impatiently mouths at Kurt’s neck, at that very spot that makes him go crazy and Kurt knows he can’t hold it much longer.

“Would you, uhm, could you talk Italian to me?” Kurt breathes out in Blaine’s ear, voice high and wanting.

“You mean…” Blaine stops, lifts his head up so he can look Kurt in the eyes.

“Yeah,” Kurt’s voice is trembling, he never thought he could say it out loud, “It just t-turns me on so much.”

“Oh my god,” Blaine closes his eyes, his hips gently thrusting down against Kurt’s thigh on their own accord, “Really?”

“Yes, please, Blaine,” Kurt whines, and he would be embarrassed about whining if it wasn’t for the fact that all his blood is rushing south just in anticipation of what is about to happen.

_“Sei cosi sexy,” [You’re so sexy]_ Blaine says immediately, as if he was prepared, his hands stroking Kurt’s toned chest, and reaching down to his belly, feeling the soft skin there, _“Mi fai impazzire.” [You drive me crazy]_

Kurt’s mouth is parted and he closes his eyes. Just hearing Blaine’s voice, so rough, is making him impossibly hard in his tight boxers.

_“Ti voglio,” [I want you]_ Blaine peppers Kurt’s collarbone with kisses, sucks on a few spots that would definitely leave bruises, _“Voglio sentire la tua voce,” [Want to hear your voice]_ he brings his right hand to Kurt’s nipple, knowing full well that his boyfriend’s nipples are super sensitive. 

As Blaine begins to rub the hard nub in circular motions, Kurt feels those warm sparks of pleasure swirl low in his stomach, can’t help but moan out loud. And then Blaine lowers his head to lick at Kurt’s other nipple, and Kurt shamelessly arches his back like a cat in heat.

_“Ti piace cosi?” [You like it this way?]_

_“Si,”_ Kurt chokes the word out, and smashes his lips against Blaine’s, because if he hears one more word of that heavenly language he might come before they even get started. The kiss is slow and dirty, all teeth and tongue, and Kurt tilts his head impatiently to lick at Blaine deeper, faster. He feels Blaine’s hand still rubbing on one of his nipples, and snakes his hand to Blaine’s back, to press him closer.

Blaine sucks on Kurt’s lower lip, making him squirm. They part with a loud ‘pop’, and Blaine takes a moment, breathing fast. He looks Kurt in the eye, and those honey hazel eyes looking at him so seductively are probably everything it can take to make Kurt lose his mind.

“I’m gonna suck your cock,” Blaine finally murmurs, grinning a little with mischief and licking his own lips so obscenely that Kurt feels his rock hard dick give a twitch, and his skin flush hot.

“Hey, I asked you,” Kurt protests weakly, even though he’s all for doing what Blaine suggested, what he truly needs right now is to hear his boyfriend speak Italian.

_“Dimmi?” [Tell me?]_ Blaine chuckles, with an air of innocence, and what a tease, really.

_“Parla Italiano,” [Talk Italian]_ Kurt begs, bringing a hand in Blaine’s hair, and tugging. He knows all too well what it does to Blaine, when someone plays with his hair, and this time is not an exception.

_“Oh mio dio, voglio leccarti dappertutto, voglio farti gridare,” [Oh my god, wanna lick you everywhere, wanna make you scream]_ , Blaine babbles half-coherently, sliding down Kurt’s body, kissing his every spot, licking inside his bellybutton, and finally touching him where he’s been straining in his boxers.

He gives Kurt a few bold strokes through his clothes, then pushes the elastic of his briefs down. 

As Blaine lowers his mouth and sucks a hickey right next to Kurt’s hipbone, making him tremble, his hand strokes Kurt to full hardness. With great effort Kurt has to stop himself from tugging at Blaine’s hair and positioning his head right where he needs it most.

_“Per favore,” [Please]_ he moans, and Blaine finally obliges, taking his hot flesh into his mouth.

Every time Kurt thinks he is prepared to have Blaine’s mouth around him and every single time it’s the most incredible new sensation that drives Kurt absolutely crazy. 

_“Ti piace quando ti prendo in bocca, si?” [You like it when I take you in my mouth, yeah?]_ Blaine murmurs, kissing softly at the tip of Kurt’s leaking cock, keeping it firmly upright.

_“Si, dai, leccami,” [Yes, come on, lick me]_ , Kurt breathes out, because he doesn’t know the word for suck, wouldn’t have remembered it even if he knew it.

Blaine’s mouth is immediately back to work, and he’s licking, sucking, humming around Kurt’s length as if he was starving, going faster each time Kurt involuntarily tugs at Blaine’s curls. Kurt loves the tight wet heat, has to restrain from fucking into Blaine’s mouth at how good it feels.

It feels too good, too fast, and Kurt needs to stop him before he comes. He doesn’t want it to be over so soon, when he needs Blaine to say something more, anything.

“Blaine, Blaine, come here,” Kurt manages to utter through his moans, and Blaine lets go, with a swift lick just under the head, which makes Kurt shiver all over.

_“Cosa c’è?” [What’s wrong?]_ Blaine breathes out, when he’s crawled back on top of Kurt, pressing close to his body. Kurt feels Blaine’s cock nudging against his hipbone, and oh feeling him so hard just makes Kurt want to thrust up.

“Didn’t want to come so fast,” Kurt says, kissing Blaine’s red lips languidly, trying to make himself calm down a little bit. Just saying it feels incredibly difficult, and somehow very sexy. 

_“Non volevo venire troppo presto,” [I didn’t want to come too soon]_ Blaine smiles against Kurt’s mouth, but keeps kissing him, _“Ripeti dopo di me.” [Repeat after me]_

Kurt wants to roll his eyes at the dork that is his boyfriend, because he has memorized that second phrase by heart and it associates in his mind with the proper pronunciation of a woman’s voice in his audio course. He can hardly imagine that woman repeating the first phrase though.

_“Non v-volevo,”_ Kurt repeats, with difficulty, stroking a hand down Blaine’s back and reaching his perfect, round butt. He hesitates a little, but then squeezes at the flesh, _“V-venire troppo presto”._

Blaine immediately moans against his mouth, the sound of it so sexy and desperate, that Kurt wants to record it and keep it forever inside of his mind, because it was him who made Blaine moan like that.

_“Toccami, Kurt, ti prego” [Touch me, Kurt I beg you]_ , he implores, playfulness gone all of a sudden, and Kurt thinks that this dirty talk thing must definitely have an effect on him too. Kurt quickly licks his palm and brings it down between them, takes Blaine in hand and strokes him hard and fast just like he knows Blaine adores it.

_“Più veloce, dai, oh, più veloce” [Faster, come on, oh faster]_ Blaine moans, thrusting into Kurt’s fist, completely unashamed. Kurt’s poor neglected cock twitches helplessly. Unashamed and turned on Blaine completely falling apart has that effect on him. And Kurt can’t take it anymore. Something wakes inside of him.

He quickly rolls them over, making Blaine lay on his back. Blaine’s nails dig deep into the flesh of Kurt’s back, his chest heaves as he breathes fast.

Then Kurt puts both hands on Blaine’s muscular thighs, and orders, as seductively as he can manage, with his voice still trembling a little, and his heart going absolutely crazy in his chest.

_“Apri le tue gambe,” [Spread your legs]_ , Kurt orders, and Blaine does, immediately, arching his back from how turned on he is.

Kurt immediately surges forward, pressing their hips, their cocks, their stomachs and chests together. He kisses Blaine, licking his bottom lip and sucking it into his mouth, sucking dirty kisses to the corner of his mouth and neck.

A stream of something incomprehensible escapes Blaine’s mouth, and through the rushing blood in his ears, Kurt can only hear _“ti prego” [I beg you]_ and “Kurt” and _“oh mio dio” [oh my god]_. They move fast together, moaning and kissing and sucking at whatever skin and flesh they can get and Blaine brings a hand between them to stroke at both of their cocks simultaneously.

_“Vieni per me,” [Come for me]_ he cries out, his other hand pressing at Kurt’s lower back.

_“Vieni,”_ Kurt echoes, pleasure almost blinding him as he comes all over their chests, and Blaine’s hand. Blaine reaches his high too, crying out in Kurt’s mouth, eyebrows furrowed and cheeks flushed, looking absolutely gorgeous. 

Kurt’s arms give out under him, so he weakly rolls to lie beside Blaine on his side, breathing heavily.

“Oh my god,” Blaine says, bringing his clean hand to cover his face, because of embarrassment or overwhelmed feelings Kurt may never know. 

“I know,” Kurt manages, feeling his heartbeat slowly subdue. He has never imagined himself saying those words, not even in English, and saying them in Italian has made him feel so dirty and sexy and infinitely connected to Blaine. 

“You have the best ideas ever,” Blaine says again, rolling on his side to face Kurt.

“True,” Kurt says, and they both laugh a little.

“Can I ask you something?” Blaine begins tentatively, his fingers stroking over Kurt’s collarbone in a familiar and intimate gesture.

Kurt nods.

“How long have you wanted it?”

“Oh,” Kurt grins, looking down in embarrassment. He puts a hand over Blaine’s heart, feeling it beating fast, “Since that time when I thought you were hopelessly Italian.”

“Now I wish I was 100% Italian,” Blaine bites at his own bottom lip, mirrors Kurt’s grin, “Just imagine how mindblowing those orgasms could have been.”

“I think if a potentially better orgasm actually exists, it might kill us both,” Kurt breathes out, making Blaine grin, and press closer, kissing his raw lips slow and long, then moving to kiss his cheeks and nose.

_“Ti amo,” [I love you]_ Blaine whispers against Kurt’s disheveled hair and kisses his sweaty forehead, _“Ti amo tantissimo” [I love you so much]_

_“Anch’io ti amo, [I love you too]_ my Italian boy,” Kurt murmurs, surrendering to the soft velvety kisses.


End file.
